


Scenario Based Learning in Dates

by softwinds



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e10 Mixology Certification, Fluff, Getting Together, I watched Cougar Town for this (and I liked it), M/M, Oblivious Troy and boy he’s in love, Roleplay, movies and tvs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwinds/pseuds/softwinds
Summary: “O...kay?” Troy is getting more confused by the second. “Uh, what do you mean, with anyone I want? You’ll get people to make out with me?”“Technically no. But at the same time, yes.” Abed nods. “Don’t worry. It’s not weird.”Troy is still unsure about what’s happening.“Like, for example, even Princess Leia?”-Abed offers Troy a not-birthday gift: the ultimate date night.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 11
Kudos: 177





	Scenario Based Learning in Dates

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey I'm back! First off this fic is somewhat different than what I've envisioned (I def dreamed too big), but I did still have fun writing it...!!  
> Thankful for the encouragement from trobed server! :D This fic is unbeta'ed so please forgive me for the grammar mistakes and such.....
> 
> tw: roleplay, characters from M rated movies

They sit silently on Abed’s mustard colored sofa, side by side—the one that’s neither too soft or too hard, and still smelling like blueberry flavored cotton candy from their last attempt in recreating Emily the Corpse Bride. 

It isn’t exactly the _perfect_ 21st not-birthday, but time spent with his best buddy does make Troy’s steeled, chafed, now legal-drinking-aged heart light up just a little. The two of them have glided through midnight breezes after other wasted _adults_ were delivered home, despite their mumbling protests, and Abed has been masterminding something. Troy knows it, since they were literally in Jeff’s baby Lexus and Abed hasn’t mentioned _Stephen King’s Christine_ once. Plus, Abed is nervous, his brain deep in a frantical calculation mode— it’s divulged to Troy by his slightly friskier eye movement.

( _“Abed, listen, I know I juuuust told you that no one likes a tattletale,” Troy pulls the car over before turning to the backseats, rescinding his friendship lesson. “But sometimes you gotta tattle.”_

_“Sometimes… I gotta tattle?” Abed echoes curiously._

_“Yeah man,” Troy persuades. “Sometimes you really need to drop the dime. And now is juuuust the perfect time to—”_

_“Annie had all your twinkies the other day, not Pierce. Pierce thought the name was gay and he carries a lot of insecurities. Also, he knows that you’ve been prankcalling him as the Elderly City Snack Police. He’s lonely.”_

_“— to tell me if there’s a secondary surprise not-birthday party going on,” He blinks slowly. “Cause I’ll have to adjust my mood for the ladies. What did you just say?”_ )

It’s okay that there isn’t a party, really. However, Troy would be a liar to say _this_ is what he has expected— just him and Abed quietly sitting together, instead of seven TV screens simultaneously playing each installment of _Saw_ or a celebratorial pillowfort composed entirely of _Bare-naked Ladies_ tapestries. 

“Troy?”

“Yes…?” He straightens his back and turns full attention to his best friend, feeling strangely nervous. Abed, leaning forward and staring into his soul with utmost sincerity, adjusts his breath in a way unlike his gentle, muster usual self but more like a nervous kid before show and tell. The skin on his neck sheens with a lucid film of light, his face winsome yet unreadable.

“What will you say if I tell you that I’ve set you up on a not-birthday date night?”

“A what?”

Abed repeats. “A date night.”

“A date night.” Third time's the charm, although Troy is still unable to tell whether it’s a hypothetical question or not. “Wait a second. Like a couple’s kind of date? With who? When, tonight?”

“Yeah, I kinda expected you’d ask those. It’s good to cover all the bases.” Abed nods understandingly. “Troy, I’m offering you a romantic first date with anyone of your choosing, your sweetheart, or dreamboat, or heartthrob, or similar terms I may or may not have heard of. You’ll have the chance to talk, hug, hold hands, kiss, or even play Jetpac Remake on Xbox 360 if the situation arises.” He flashes Troy a quick and cunning smile. “I borrowed an Xbox just in case. And yes, double yes, it’s happening tonight, in celebration of the month and day that coincides numerically with your expulsion from a uterus. What do you say?”

“O...kay?” Troy is getting more confused by the second. “Uh, what do you mean, with anyone I want? You’ll get people to make out with me?”

“Technically no. But at the same time, yes.” Abed nods. “Don’t worry. It’s not weird.”

Troy is still unsure about what’s happening.

“Like, for example, even _Princess Leia_?”

Abed corks his head to the side, unclasps his jaw and takes in a deep, deep breath, the kind to relieve all air in a person's lungs and bring in a brand new blob, before bouncing off the sofa in a swift move. His hands settle on either side of his waist. With the fluttering of his lashes, Abed’s eyes seem to grow even larger and more innocent than usual— Troy didn’t even know it was possible— and they hang across his face like the reflections of a glistening moon. 

He replies prudishly: “ _So, what can I help you with, Starfighter Commander Troy Barnes_ ? _I noticed you looking at my hair buns earlier. Do you know they’re called Squash Blossom?_ ” Abed pouts. “ _I don’t understand it either. No one could tell me what a squash is._ ”

Ah.

“Wow! Dude, I mean,” Troy swears his heart just halted for a solid two seconds. “Princess— _Senator Organa_ , it is such an honor to finally meet you in person. Shit. I’m so sorry, your majesty, please sit down.” Embarrassed by his despicable lack of courteousness, Troy pushes himself up and starts dusting the sofa in a frenzy. “Know what? Now I’m feeling extremely underdressed. I’m not even wearing my Alliance uniform...”

Abed shuts his eyes again and shakes his limbs loose. Like that, Leia Amidala Skywalker Organa Solo disappears into thin air by his miraculous enchantment just like how she appears.

“Like I promised,” Abed inhales deeply and reverts to his regular self. “Date night. With whoever you want.”

“What about Princess Leia but she just had a big balloon of helium?” Troy widens his eyes in alacrity. “What about Princess Leia in her dad’s mask, still with the balloon, and also she was taught to speak Galactic Basic by Yoda as a kid?”

“Troy. Do you really want to spend your date night with Princess Leia wearing Darth Vader’s mask while speaking like Master Yoda? Because I can do that.” Abed stretches his lips. “But would that be your ideal date?”

Troy is suddenly anxious. 

“Choose wisely.” Abed adds.

To be completely honest, Troy’s serious and momentous selection for a babe-of-his-dream has yet to be coin down like a _real_ man would have during the twenty-one long, turbulent years— the better half of which preoccupied by bustling football towels, and the other half secretly absorbed by CLDTGCU (Clive Owen Dangerous Tough Guy Cinematic Universe), after Troy discovered _The Hire_ (2001). He would really _really_ hate to disappoint Abed with an ill thought-out choice of romance because of this— although Abed rarely makes direct judgement to Troy, he also bears the ultimate verdicting power of what’s actually good personal taste and what’s not. 

“Actually...” Troy starts. 

Abed is waiting, patiently, almost too suspiciously patient like he’s already silently making decisions. 

“Can we try something random first? You know, like sliders,” Troy blurts out as sweats begin to escape from his skin. “I mean samples.”

Abed wets his lips. He tilts his head to the side, rolling his eyes thoughtfully to the upper corners as if he’s a man-thinking-smart-thoughts model in those after-school tutoring ads. It looks adorable. Troy darts his gaze aside, a strange mist of warmth combined with anticipation twirling his chest, making his head all fuzzy.

“Sure. I can do that.” Abed eventually confirms. “What do you have in mind? Someone sweet? Aloof? Welcoming? Intimidating? Human? Alien? Sexy? Uptight?”

“Uhh,” Troy gulps. “Sexy first, I guess? Since I’m a grown man now. Mama needs her _juice_.” He pauses. “I heard Shirley say it. I hope it means what I thought it meant and not something else.”

Abed‘s eyes crinkle. Despite its tepid beginning and kinda-sorta disastrous midsection, if Troy’s 21st not-birthday can end in him making out with a time-transcending sex symbol (again, he has full trust in Abed’s taste) then it might still deserve a chance, and Troy is going for it. What they’re about to do is totally not weird— since the audience-approved Kickpuncher fanvids already featured up to six steamy sex scenes in exploration of the hero’s multi-layered psyche, and the less than innocent dreams it sprouted have long been forgotten as long as last Saturday and Tuesday aren’t taken into account. Thereby, the romantic interaction between him, the actual Troy Barnes and fictional characters _played_ by Abed wouldn’t make him question anything at all, of course. It’s a gift! He certainly can’t refuse a _gift_ from his best friend in the world, can he?

“Anything else?”

“Well, no LeVar Burton, or anyone in personal relationships with LeVar Burton.” Troy hesitates. “Not that I think Lebae Burton is sexy. He’s like, 50 years old.”

“No LeVar. It goes without saying.” Abed nods. 

“You don’t need to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, Abed.”

“Of course. You can also call it off whenever you want, mostly in case of unscripted LeVar Burton emergency.” Abed leans his shoulder back and takes a sharp breath. “ _Let’s start now,_ _Detective._ ” 

-

After a second of adjustment, Troy realizes that _oh, it’s on_. The guy who was a Greendale student merely moments ago has now painted on an utterly different facade. Abed flashes Troy a sly smile and slides onto the sofa cushion, artful and lithe, nimble like a velvet-furred cat. 

“ _Come here. Sit down beside me._ ” He coos. “ _Do you have any cigarettes?_ ”

“And you are—”

“ _You know who I am, Troy. Catherine T, Miss Tramell, everyone’s favorite crime writer... You can call me Catherine._ ” 

Troy moves to Abed’s side. The name’s familiar. She’s from that movie... What’s the name again? Troy vaguely remembers watching it with his old teammates back in highschool at their Kicker Jamie’s weekend party. And yes, according to how short that night lasted and how many crew socks were missing from Jamie’s drawers, she is almost definitely date-worthy.

Abed’s fingers linger on the edge of his shoulder. Troy gasps before his brain can process it. “ _Cigarette_?”

“I’m trying to quit.” His own voice is thin and unsteady. 

“ _Of course you are, Detective._ ” Abed practically _purrs_ , tickling the back of Troy’s mind with the trace of his breaths. “ _But it never lasts long, does it? It’s hard to turn your back on certain pleasures in life..._ ” His eyes inquisitively map down Troy’s chest and down to the left side of his jeans. “ _Now, what’s that?_ ”

“Uh,” Troy gulps, throat creaking. “Nothing?”

“ _Are you sure, Detective?_ ” Abed narrows his eyes and flashes him a knowing smile. Troy is instantly flustered and he doesn’t even understand why.

“... No.” He surrenders. “You can go ahead.”

Abed reaches out his arm and plucks out his box of cigarette candy from his pocket, and Troy finds himself holding his breath, for some reason. Despite his constant claim of being a lady’s man, experience-wise Troy is on the same level of a newborn calf, spending his first day inching the vast, strange farm of love with soft tiny hooves. And Catherine, whichever movie she’s from, is clearly the alpha, the player, the holy grail— grill. She’s gonna make a fine meal out of Troy if he lets her.

Abed crosses and uncrosses his legs, clearly seeing the issue too.

“ _I need a man who can handle me, Detective Barnes. And even though you have such strong hands,_ ” he admits with sympathy. “ _This will certainly be a waste of time. Now, please forgive me, I have to go make some other law enforcement wet their pants._ ” He shrugs. “ _And you’ll never solve the murder of Annie’s shredded backpack._ ”

“But I want to solve the murder of Annie’s shredded backpack!” Troy protests, but it’s already too late. Catherine Tramell is gone by the flickering in Abed’s eyes. 

“Too much?” Abed knits his brows together, looking concerned. “That’s _Basic Instinct_. I didn’t get the chance to go into _Basic Instinct 2_.”

“It’s just—” Troy shuffles his fingers. “I liked some parts of it. She was, you know, mysterious and stuff. It was pretty intriguing.” 

Abed nods. Troy can almost see him making a mental note of tonight’s troubled romance. 

“Let’s try someone else?”

“Yeah. Let’s try someone else.” Troy replies, secretly missing Abed’s— Catherine’s touch just a little. 

-

And they try. Their new contestant, clearly bubblier, enters room the corners of Abed’s mouth cant up to each side for a wide, giddy grin. He picks up his chin and pushes out his chest, toying with his imaginary curls.

“ _So, Troy. How’s it hanging?_ ”

“Pretty well?” His muscles are becoming less tense, the previously unsolvable equations on where to place his limbs now requiring much less mental effort.

Abed giggles— and wow, whoever he’s playing right now has such a nice sweet giggle voice— every dancing shadow, every sharp feature on Abed’s face softens just a thread as if they’re rippled by a coin in the wishing fountain, a shipment of one thousand dreams about chocolate hotdogs and _About a Boy_ sequels. He held the same smile when Troy learned to make them buttered noodles. It’s, at this moment, very distracting, so distracting that Troy doesn’t even realize he’s practically gawking.

“ _Hollaaaa!_ ” Abed waves his slender arm and drags Troy back into reality. “ _What was that? You were just staring at my face! Someone’s veeeery interested in my big smile and my bigger person-a-li-ty,_ ” his red plaid shirt slips down slightly with the wiggling of his shoulders. “ _I am honestly a tinsiest bit offended that you’re not looking lower. Lemme guess. You’re a boy next door type?_ ”

“Maybe?” Troy replies in honesty. “I thought Mr. Nowotarski only talks to his landlord, the mailman, and his parrot Lady Kool-aid...”

“ _Oh my god. You’re so sweet and funny!_ ” Abed exclaims. Although Troy can feel the slightest bit of unintentional snub, his tongue is helplessly stuck behind his lips because Abed has casually, naturally, covered Troy’s hand with his own. His skin is warm and Troy’s heart begins to race like a wild steed in two pairs of rollerblades. “ _Can I do this?_ ”

“Yes… yes, you can do this.” Abed’s thumb circles the underside of his wrist and Troy is so close to letting out a whimper. “So, you think I’m _sweet and funny_?”

“ _Of course! First of all, wow, you’re just so cute. Secondly, love the name Toy, kind of a first-name-that’s-also-a-last-name situation, which is just so amazing. Right up my alley._ ” Abed answers sweetly, dragging his syllabus. “ _I also had a weird childhood situation that left me feeling constantly unwanted, so I do tend to over-perform during social interactions. I seek casual flings but deep down have a strong fear for commitment and goodbyes so maybe I just need a person who’s completely devoted to lessen my fear of being left behind—_ ”

“Abed?” Troy calls out as fingers start digging into his other arm. “Abed!”

Abed stops his motion, looking slightly frizzled. 

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry. I’m fine. Got carried away.” He bites down into his lower lip. “Laurie Keller can be a risky one. We share certain similarities.”

“ _Cougar town_?” Troy whispers gently. 

Abed exhales, still grasping onto Troy’s hand and forearm, his face so close that Troy can feel the heat from the tip of his nose. “ _Cougar Town._ ”

“Abed,” Trot admits. “I liked her.”

“She unironically named her horse Limp Bizkit.” Abed gazes up through his lashes.

Troy sighs. It surely is difficult to find some perfect— or, at least, free of any irredeemable hidden flaw because certain music tastes should actually be considered crimes. “Can I request someone who’s _not_ into Limp Bizkit?”

-

He meets Janice Rand, Uhura and Christine Chapel in that order, during which he shares with Abed a long hug, a freestyle battle and a brief larynx examination. Troy gratefully decides that he _does_ need someone who speaks his language: tractor beam, baryon sweep and dilithium crystal converter shall be some of the most novice terms. His communication with Leeloo, on the other hand, is made especially challenging, since Troy’s vocabulary is 264 years behind her time. Abed’s interpretation of _The Fifth Element_ apparently includes the mighty heroine being ass-kicking at Jetpack, but all Troy’s complaints are snipped in the bud when he receives a celebratory peck on the cheek. Albeit still missing on _the one_ , Troy is definitely having more fun than he’d like to admit— though he’s not sure whether it is “I’m flirting with strangers and the room is getting hotter and hotter” fun or “I’m spending time with my best friend and I can see his pupils getting dilated here and there and it’s making me feel emotions” fun. 

Or, maybe, a bit of both. He doesn’t even feel so strange when Abed slips in some Lando or Hannibal King to freshen the palette. However, When Abed kicks off his shoes for The Twist, Troy can pick up that something is different. Abed has twitched something— and his sixth sense is proven right when he’s suddenly pulled close, his back curved down and anchored against Abed’s surprisingly strong and sturdy hand. 

He is being _dipped_.

“ _This is new to me too._ ” Abed’s voice is low and coarsed. “ _I haven’t danced in many years. Now since 2008._ ”

Troy, with a sudden wave of heat sweeping his cheeks, hurriedly works the last of his brain power to try and piece it together. “That was like… two years ago.”

“ _For me it wasn’t._ ” A melancholy smile breezes across Abed’s face. “ _Ah, 2008... It has been 19 years._ ”

Troy recognizes the accent. It’s familiar— it’s not Harry Potter, right? Because he’s like, a little wizard boy, and he definitely goes to wizard boy proms. Nineteen plus eight is twentyseven— no, wait. It can't be...

“Are you Theo Faron,” Troy can feel his soul escaping his completely stunned, stupefied body. “From critically acclaimed action-thriller _Children of Man_ , played by Clive Owen?”

“ _That’s right, Troy. It’s Theo._ ” Abed smiles and dips him down even deeper. “ _Or, Survivor Theo. That’s my new nickname now. Funny, isn’t it? How I hated the name Baby Diego_...” 

Troy nods, although his brain’s going into short circuits and everything else is put on autopilot and he’s certainly not in the optimal state of thinking knowing the fact that it is not actually Clive Owen hovering over him with clement yet peppy eyes, but rather Abed playing Clive Owen playing Theo Fraon, and somehow it doesn’t slow down the blood rushing to his face even by a millisecond. 

“ _Troy?_ ” Abed’s hand moves up to Troy’s shoulder blades and and carefully, decisively hugs him in like a mollusk with its pearl, and Troy is all right with being the pearl even to his own surprise. “Did you like that?”

“Yes, Abed.” He settles his chin on Abed’s shoulder and tries his best not to squeak. “It’s not weird, right?”

“Of course not.” From the tail of his voice, Troy can tell Abed’s smiling— one of those subtle, mysterious yet comforting smiles like he has just won the biggest plushie at the carnival for and leaving them to an absolutely awed kid. “It’s not weird, Troy. Do you want to try my Dale Cooper?”

-

The Dale Cooper is _good_. The James Bond too.

Swirling his wrist and pretending that his pepsi is actually mixed with rum, Troy starts to suspect that maybe, just maybe, very subtly, Abed is trying to tell him something. But what could the lesson be? That finding true love is hard? That Troy seriously needs to get some? 

He watches Abed shaking himself a fake Martini with Sprite, before dropping in a single pearl of grape. He’s humming and swaying his shoulders so slightly. Is this Abed’s way of telling Troy that he needs to figure out what exactly is his type, now that he’s gained his maturity? Or rather, is _Abed_ curious about his type?

The person in front of him, in the end, is still his best friend. It’s the guy who can drive the crowd crazy by being a version of Polish-Palestinian Jesus while simultaneously driving his classmates away by spending hours talking about the power imbalance in D&D 4th edition (seriously, though Abed does have some neat fresh takes, _everyone_ already knows it’s devastatingly biased against non-magic users). The guy who’s so bad at reading social cues that he needs an actual small talk training diary, but so good at making Troy feel so seen and valued and _loved_ more than ever before because somehow he just _gets_ him.

With a half filled glass in hand, Abed is returning to the couch with a sleek wink. It’s still him— Troy reminds himself. Sometimes he’s mysterious like Miss Catherine T and sometimes fluttery like Laurie or Leeloominaï. He remembers to paint his fingernails blue while re-enacting Betazoid versus Ferengi. When they fall asleep leaning on each other during finals weeks Troy would fight to screw shut his eyelids just so that he can feel the weight on his shoulder for one more minute. He always smells like nice soap.

So— oh.

It just clicks. Troy’s brain arrives at the ultimate conclusion that Abed, his best buddy, is actually extremely terrifyingly perfect— and his ideal date’s fingers has just arrived on his lower thigh. No matter what Abed is trying to say or meaning to understand by his effort on an impeccable date night, Troy now knows exactly what _he_ wants to do.

“Mr. Bond?”

“ _Umm hm?_ ” 

“Okay. Lemme just— I’m having a great time talking about tiny guns and Le Chiffre, and I’d very much like to visit your home office one day, so please don’t be mad— but you have to leave right now because I really, really need to talk to Abed.” He continues. “And Abed? Ignore me if the answer is no,” he leans forward slightly and looks into the awaiting face in front— please don’t let the answer be no. “Can I kiss you?”

Abed drops his special agent shoulders. For a moment he just _stares_ at Troy, quietly, like a baby deer in Disney movies spotting a future princess-to-be for the first time; like he’s gazing into a dream, even though Abed is clearly the 3 am fantasy with blade-sharp cheekbones and tender eyes and _why_ is he not saying anything?

“Abed?” Troy whispers. “Abed!”

Like that, his best friend lowers his eyelids and catches Troy’s lips between a brace of shaky breaths. It’s gentle and soft and magical. They stay in the position, fingers twined together, taking in each other’s presence— Troy’s pretty sure he had the best answer possible this time.

They fall clumsily against the couch cushions when Abed’s palms become even warmer and his inhales more or less messy. It feels so effortless.

”Did I,” he murmurs against Abed’s lips. “Did I get it right?”

And the kiss becomes slightly hungrier by the end of his sentence. Unless he’s mistaken, Abed mumbles something and _smirks_. 

That’s certainly something to think about, Troy decides. However, at this very moment, he’s just glad that they don’t have class tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Abed: mission accomplished :))
> 
> Thank you so much for reading & really hope you liked it!! Comments and kudos are so so welcomed as always! >.<


End file.
